


scandals v2

by nightbirdrises



Series: Sinking 'verse [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's mine is mine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	scandals v2

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this segment: clothed frottage, marking, uh... jealousy, stuff like that? underage drinking
> 
> You can read Sinking in chronological order using [this page](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/sinking), or you can read it in the order of events as I wrote them [here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/tagged/v%3A+sinking/chrono).

**From: Kurt**  
Hey. You still up for Scandals v2?

 

 **To: Kurt**  
YES PLEASE

 

 **To: Kurt**  
Sorry. Just, any excuse to forget about yesterday is nice. And I get to be with you, so that’s a bonus.

 

 **From: Kurt**  
As long as you don’t drink yourself to shit.

 

 **To: Kurt**  
Nooo I won’t, I promise. Just one. I want to remember everything that happens.

 

 **From: Kurt**  
Good. Meet me at my place in an hour? Finn won’t be here.

 

 **To: Kurt**  
You got it :D

 

 **From: Kurt**  
Sap.

 

 **To: Kurt**  
:D :D :D

 

Blaine chuckled as he threw his phone onto the bed, stretching his arms leisurely. He hadn’t dared to visit Facebook — not that he really used it in the first place, but he didn’t want to see what might have happened in the wake of yesterday’s news. He remembered the last time all too well.

In a way, he had come to accept the whole situation this time around. He hadn’t come out on his own terms this time, of course, but he’d suffered some of the worst repercussions of being out in small-town Ohio already. He knew what to expect, for the most part, and he was confident that he could handle it.

And this time he had Kurt.

He could definitely handle it, with Kurt.

Maybe.

He shook the matter from his mind, going through his closet to find something halfway decent to wear. Despite the Skank staple of wearing clothes that would generally be seen in a back-alley dumpster, Kurt always seemed to make it work for him, his ensembles both Skank-worthy and tasteful in a way that Blaine couldn’t describe. Maybe it was just that he quite obviously stuck with clean clothes, but Blaine doubted it. What he didn’t doubt was that Kurt had an eye for fashion, whether he used it consciously or not.

Blaine decided to keep it simple: a red polo with white trim and a pair of dark jeans. He picked the jeans for their comfort level, of course. It had nothing to do with how they fit around his ass, not at all.

Checking the time, he huffed as he realized he still had just under an hour to kill. The drive to Kurt’s usually took about fifteen minutes — not that Lima was large; the streets were just ridiculously winding and indirect. Walking in a straight line, he could probably get there faster, but cars were convenient.

So he’d leave early, he decided. Kurt was never too strict about timing, anyways, usually arriving at Blaine’s house without any warning whatsoever. It was still fairly warm outside (at least for October), so he just grabbed a light jacket on his way out for when it got dark. After all, he planned to be out much later tonight than he was on that first trip to Scandals with Kurt.

About ten minutes later (so maybe he sped a little bit), he pulled up to the Hudson-Hummel house, his entire being already thrumming with anticipation. He was in the front door in a flash, it seemed like, Burt waving a silent greeting to him from the living room that he returned with gusto. 

Blaine sprinted up the stairs, walked down the hall to Kurt’s door — third on the left — and knocked on it three times before remembering that Kurt wouldn’t be able to hear him. He opened the door just a crack, peeking inside so as not to interrupt anything. But Kurt wasn’t there, as far as he could tell, so Blaine slipped inside.

Aside from a short tour the last time he’d been here, Blaine hadn’t spent much time in Kurt’s room. He glanced around, taking in the shades of grey and blue, understanding what Kurt meant that day about learning a lot about a person from the way their room looks. He wondered what post-accident-Kurt’s room must have looked like.

His eyes caught something on the nightstand, a small, round jar full of amber honey. Blaine smiled as he picked it up, remembered their first date with a kind of hopeful fondness. The door suddenly flew open; Blaine flinched, nearly tripping over his own feet and onto the bed.

Kurt stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he registered the sight in front of him: Blaine wobbling slightly as he regained his balance, a jar of honey in his hand.

"You couldn’t wait?" he teased after a moment, walking up to Blaine and easing the honey out of his hands. Blaine shrugged and shot the honey a questioning look, grinning. "What?"

"You really like honey, don’t you?" he mouthed, and Kurt crossed his arms.

"A little bit."

"A lot."

"Whatever." Kurt pulled the board out of his bag and tossed it to Blaine, who caught it easily and pretended to think hard before writing a sentence down.

_What if I just called you honey from now on?_

"What if I called you my ickle snookums?" Blaine wrinkled his nose.

 _You wouldn’t. Would you?_  Kurt shook his head, smiling as he stepped to the closet and began to carelessly rifle through it. Blaine took the opportunity to sit down on the edge of the bed and watch him, all long legs in dark, torn jeans and strong arms stretching the sleeves of his T-shirt and  _pull yourself together, we haven’t even left yet_.

"Is something wrong?" Blaine jumped, returning his gaze to Kurt’s face to see his bemused expression. He shook his head jerkily and gave him a quick thumbs-up. Kurt frowned, then smirked, leaving the closet to walk up to Blaine.

Blaine was frozen in place as Kurt straddled his lap, bringing a hand up to his cheek before kissing him slowly, the tongue piercing teasing at Blaine’s lips. Too soon, Kurt was standing up again, Blaine’s fingers brushing uselessly against his waist.

"Will that hold you until we get there?" Kurt asked, and Blaine went back to the dry-erase board.

_One more, just in case?_

Kurt read it and rolled his eyes, putting a hand on Blaine’s chest to guide him down so that he lay flat on his back. Blaine shoved the board out of the way as Kurt clambered onto the bed next to him, propped up on one elbow as the same hand traced its way up Blaine’s chest to his neck before settling against his cheek again. Blaine turned his head at Kurt’s urging to meet his lips.

Blaine’s hand found Kurt’s waist — it was what kept him anchored, kept him from floating away as he surely would if they ever stopped touching. The thought had him gripping tighter, pulling Kurt closer, kissing deeper, deeper until he could taste the smooth metal of Kurt’s piercing and the faint sweetness of honey. 

They remained that way for either a few seconds or a few minutes, maybe even a few hours — Blaine couldn’t tell. With Kurt, time was just an unnecessary side effect of existing. It wasn’t until Kurt’s hand wandered down to Blaine’s waistband, his fingers dancing teasingly at the zipper, that Blaine resurfaced — noticing for the first time that he was on top of Kurt.

"Sorry," Kurt whispered once Blaine had backed off. "Got carried away."

"It’s fine," Blaine mouthed, grinning as he rolled off of Kurt, still breathing heavily and wondering vaguely if he should have let events run their course.

But then Kurt was standing up and checking the time on his phone, and saying, “We might as well just go now,” and Blaine nodded in response. Kurt took a black zip-down sweatshirt out of his closet and pulled it on as he gestured towards the door. Blaine left first and Kurt followed close behind, leaving the dry-erase board sitting on the bed. Blaine started to ask about it but stopped when he answered his own question — they wouldn’t be talking much, anyways.

They exchanged few words as they left — Kurt signed what Blaine guessed must have been a farewell to Burt, who returned it in kind and said, “Not too late, kid,” with his eyes on Blaine as Kurt went out the front door.

"Is there any particular time…"

Burt snorted. “This is Kurt we’re talkin’ about. As long as you’re not out there at three in the morning… Just be safe. You’re smart kids.”

"Got it. Thank you." Blaine flashed a grin as he left, almost running into Kurt just outside the front door.

"Bonding time with my dad?"

"Something like that," Blaine said with a shrug as they walked to his car. 

The ride to Scandals was surprisingly short, the radio on low for Blaine as Kurt watched the houses pass by outside the passenger window. It wasn’t long before they were walking towards the bar in the fading light, fake IDs in hand, then walking inside.

Blaine had only been there once in his life, but Scandals seemed strangely busy, even for a Saturday night. Of course, the scattered crowd was still made up of mostly older men, with the occasional wayfaring college student downing shots along the bar. Kurt reached the bar first, greeting Tom with a smile as Blaine came up behind him.

"He bring you here?" Tom asked with a wink, and Blaine grinned, nodding. "Good thing, too. These boys need a show before they drop dead."

"Oh— I, um," Blaine stammered, rubbing at the back of his neck. "A show?"

"You’ve no idea the kind o’ effect you have on people, do you?" Tom said, amused. "Especially on him." He pointed to Kurt, who had since turned away from the conversation to scan the bar with a carefully controlled expression. Someone whistled, and Blaine felt a sudden desire to say something before he reminded himself that Kurt couldn’t possibly have heard it.

That didn’t make him feel any less wary of the other men in the bar — on the contrary, he started to look around for himself, glaring at a young man that had his eyes fixed hungrily on Kurt.

"Relax. Take this." Blaine turned around, blinking at the bottle being thrust into his hands. "Pay me later." Blaine stared down at the beer before taking a sizable gulp, flinching at the bitterness on his tongue.

Half of the bottle later — and a spontaneous, completely unexpected kiss on the cheek from Kurt — Blaine was being pulled to the dance floor, uneasily aware of heads turning and eyes following them.

Well, following _Kurt_. They wouldn’t pay any attention to Blaine.

Would they?

"You’re distracted," Kurt hummed into his ear once they stopped, his arms coming to rest almost instinctively around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine shrugged, knew he was too close for Kurt to read his lips even if he tried to respond. Kurt chuckled, leaning in towards his neck. "It’s a good thing I tend to pull focus, then."

Blaine’s eyelids were slipping closed when a voice interrupted the pounding of his thoughts (or maybe it was the music; he couldn’t tell). He looked over Kurt’s shoulder and saw a broad-chested man with hair the color and appearance of a haystack standing there; Blaine guessed he was in his late twenties, at the least.

"Mind if I borrow ‘im?" the man asked, unsmiling, though there was a kind of glee in his eyes that had Blaine shuddering internally. "Ten minutes, tops."

"And what if I say no?" Blaine asked, his voice low. Kurt hummed against his neck, completely unaware of the conversation. The man cracked a lurid smile.

"It’s no big deal. We’ve done it before."

"Uh-huh. Not tonight." Blaine, out of an overwhelming desire to get his point across, ducked to start mouthing at the underside of Kurt’s jawline. Kurt gasped and tilted his head back to allow him better access; the man grunted and left, slouching unflatteringly. Blaine had no idea where this sudden possessiveness came from, but he didn’t question it — Kurt was  _his_  for as long as he was willing to be. Which wasn’t quite as promising a thought as he often hoped it was.

 _Mine_ , he thought, grasping Kurt’s hips tighter.

_Mine, until I’m no longer his._

They stayed on the floor for a while longer, neither of them making any move to intensify their dancing. Blaine, for his part, was fine with kissing and marking and swaying and the occasional roll of hips that inevitably left him wanting more, not that more ever came. However, his brain was buzzing pleasantly and Kurt was there, so he found no reasons to complain.

At some point they silently decided to return to the bar, where Blaine was surprised to find his beer still sitting where he’d left it, half-empty. _  
_

No. Half-full.

He downed the rest of it as he conversed with Tom, who seemed to have taking a liking to him. Blaine liked him, at least, and wondered absently what Tom did in his free time. Did he have another job? Did he like working at Scandals?

"Slow down, boy," Tom said, chuckling, and Blaine realized that he’d been thinking out loud. "I’ve got a gas station job most weekday afternoons, and I wish I could leave this place for good, but the bills gotta be paid." Blaine nodded understandingly.

Kurt, sitting next to him, sat up poker-straight. He stared with narrowed eyes towards something that Blaine couldn’t see without turning away from the bar. Blaine started to spin around, but Kurt caught his shoulder, shaking his head.

"I’ll be right back," he mouthed. Blaine, confused and maybe a little bit past tipsy, gave him a thumbs-up and watched as Kurt left. Obediently, he didn’t try to see where he went — instead, Blaine distracted himself by paying for his beer and continuing his conversation with an ever-patient Tom.

In a comfortable moment of silence, he thought of the man from the floor, and he felt a weight drop through his chest. He didn’t want to imagine it, believe it, but his thoughts betrayed him, playing a montage of kneeling legs spotted in the space beneath bathroom stalls, of urgent whispers — or nothing at all, only the slick sound of skin against skin.

 _He wouldn’t do that_ , he thought. Blaine knew better than to fall into the beliefs of most of McKinley High, didn’t he? But still, doubt lingered.

It wasn’t long after he began to tap his fingers against the bar out of a failed attempt at diverting attention while Tom was with a customer that a hand grabbed his upper arm and led him forcefully — though gently — towards the exit.

"Hey," he said feebly, spotting pink streaks before anything else. "What are you doing? Are we going home? I want to dance more. Kurt."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Blaine knew that Kurt couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t stop the words from flooding out.

"Where were you?" he asked once the chill October air hit them. "I was all by myself. Well, there was Tom, and he’s nice. He’s really nice, Kurt. But I didn’t know where you were and there was this guy who—"

Kurt stopped him, walked around so that he was standing in front of Blaine, and put his hands on his hips.

"I can see your lips moving, but you need to slow down," he explained when Blaine started rambling again.

"I— Where were you?"

"I was taking care of something," Kurt said slowly; Blaine frowned.

"What something?"

"A something that thought you weren’t taken. I decided that we needed to talk."

"But you never talk," Blaine said, and instantly regretted it. "I mean, you don’t… too loud, or, um."

Kurt shrugged. “What’s mine is mine.”

"Oh. Am I your mine?" Kurt laughed. He put an arm around Blaine’s shoulders.

"It’s hard to believe you only had one beer. Come on." Blaine went along helplessly as Kurt directed him towards the car. He wondered what they were doing since he didn’t think he should drive just yet, but let himself be pulled along anyways.

Once they reached the car, Kurt pushed him roughly up against one of the back doors, mouth suddenly insistent against his. Blaine didn’t think; he kissed back, his tongue running along Kurt’s lower lip. His fingers fumbled with the keys as he unlocked the car and managed to open the door, the two of them pulling apart just long enough to get inside, Blaine stretched on his back along the backseat.

Not a moment later, Kurt straddled him as best he could in the cramped space and kissed him again, tongue first, practically fucking into Blaine’s mouth as his hips began to roll. Blaine shifted and gasped as he felt Kurt, hard, thrust right inside his thigh, rubbing against his cock through their jeans. The sound of shifting denim, the dull press of Kurt on top of him, surrounding him, it overtook his senses.

"They fucking think they can just do  _this_  to you,” Kurt muttered, words spilling out between the tug of his teeth and lips on Blaine’s neck. “Think they can so much as look at you around me, like you’re just as free for the taking as any other asshole in there.”

“ _Kurt._ ”

Kurt didn’t hear, of course, but Blaine could feel the heat twisting low and even his slightly alcohol-warped, touch-muddled brain knew that they were reaching the breaking point, that point that they’d never crossed before. He didn’t know why, in that moment, only that he wanted to ask Kurt if he was okay with getting there this time.

Luckily for him, it was Kurt that finally asked, “Can I— B, I’m getting close, do you want to—”

"No," Blaine said quickly, shaking his head as Kurt paused to look at him. "Keep going. Please."

Kurt’s chest heaved as he took a breath before he nodded, grinding into Blaine faster, harder. His lips found Blaine’s again, though there was hardly more than brief contact in between increasingly ragged breaths and grunts and moans.

Blaine shifted to change the angle slightly, couldn’t help the cry that left his mouth from the back of his throat. He was definitely hard now, had been for a while, cock straining against his jeans — and he thought they’d been tight  _before_.

Before he knew it he was close, his muscles tightening, and the only way he knew to communicate to Kurt was to rake his fingers down his back, nails digging bluntly through the dark sweatshirt. Kurt’s back arched, his jaw dropped, his hips thrust into Blaine’s and that was all it took for starbursts to appear as the heat finally expanded, lower body shuddering.

He thought he heard Kurt mutter, “Fuck,” as he came down, and soon watched through heavy eyelids as Kurt came, eyes shut tight and mouth open soundlessly, beautifully.

They lay there until their breathing evened out, and as Kurt stumbled out of the car, Blaine noticed the uncomfortable stickiness in his pants. He climbed out after Kurt, wincing.

"Was that okay?" Kurt asked immediately with a worried expression, and Blaine almost laughed. Okay? Try amazing. Mind-blowing.

"It was perfect," he said. Kurt grinned, his worry vanishing in an instant. "Um, it’s kind of… sticky."

Kurt nearly doubled over from laughter as Blaine looked on, slightly offended. “Sorry,” Kurt mumbled, calming down. “We can stop at my place and get you some sweats or something to change into. Post-orgasm pants.” He giggled some more at that, and Blaine couldn’t resist smiling. 

"You should probably drive," he said, tossing over the keys. Kurt nodded and scrunched up his nose as he took the single step towards the door.

"Maybe we should stick to cooling down," he said, opening it. "At least until, you know, you’re ready. This is just not comfortable."

Blaine had a feeling they wouldn’t abide by that rule for long, but he agreed anyways as he walked around to the passenger side and got in. They drove in silence, Kurt focusing intently on the road due to his inability to hear. When they stopped at the Hudson-Hummels’ house, Blaine remembered something.

 _You called me B_ , Blaine wrote on the board immediately after they entered Kurt’s room, showing the message to him.

"Is that a bad thing?" Blaine shook his head. "Because ‘my ickle snookums’ could still happen."

_Please no._

"Thought so."

_I like it though. It works. After all, bees love honey, and your lips taste a little bit like honey._

Kurt opened his mouth, closed it, and settled for just smiling as he turned to pull a pair of dark grey sweatpants out of the dresser, tossing them to Blaine. “One pair of post-orgasm pants to go.”

"Thanks," Blaine mouthed, heading for the bathroom to change. After he finished cleaning up and changing, he looked into the mirror for a while, taking in the sight of two fresh, reddened bruises on his neck. He bit his lip and wondered if he should just… not hide them. Proclaim to the world that he was taken. That he had someone who wanted him.

Someone who got just as jealous as he did, if not more so.

Someone who had entire layers of personalities and histories that he might never know. Who tasted of honey, and just a trace of smoke.

Who maybe, just maybe, wanted Blaine around for as long as possible, just as Blaine wanted the very same. He still had his doubts, still had those annoying voices in the back of his head that told him this wouldn’t last, but they were quieter now. He had a friend, a lover, a supporter in Kurt, and he was growing ever more confident of that truth.

Confidence was something he had never really possessed in great quantities; he normally settled for a false shell of it, but this was different.  _How_  different, though, only time would tell.


End file.
